Into the Unknown
by aphrab
Summary: The story covers Michaela's fears of her wedding night and her pleasure in being loved.


**INTO THE UNKNOWN**

by Mary Ellen Snodgrass

The homestead door creaked open, admitting misty moonglow and the glimmer of a few stars. Michaela hunched her shoulders into a crocheted shawl and stepped into the chill of a May night. Her footsteps ranged farther from the porch toward a turn in the dark road ahead.

At the big oak, Sully appeared from the shadows and whispered, "Mind if I come along?"

She flinched and pulled her shawl tighter. "I thought you were gone for the night."

Lifting his tack hammer, he explained, "I'm stretchin a deer hide on the door to dry while we're in Denver."

Sully couldn't imagine why his wife-to-be would be walking the yard in the dark. He slid his arm around her and drew her to him. "You're shiverin. What are you doin out in the night air before our weddin?"

He guided her into the barn and shut the door. With a sweep of his free hand, he pulled his fringed jacket off a peg and wrapped it around her. The two sank alongside Flash's stall. Nestled into the straw, she began to warm up.

"I had to think. I needed to think." Her hands clutched at his forearm as though steadying her for a difficult decision.

The sudden alteration in her concerned him. "What's troublin you, Michaela?"

"It's private, Sully." She looked pained as though weighted by a longstanding burden.

He pressed his lips into her lemon-scented hair and urged, "Husbands and wives don't keep secrets."

"I must figure this out alone." She gazed down at her hands to avoid his direct gaze.

He refused to be sidelined. "Tell me."

She glanced aside, then admitted, "I'm so afraid."

"Of me?" He raised his eyebrows in alarm. His voice betrayed self-doubt.

"No," she patted his forearm reassuringly.

"What's worryin you?" With some hesitance, he suggested, "Are you anxious about gettin pregnant?"

"No, not at all." Swallowing with difficulty, she looked beyond at nothing.

Truly puzzled, he asked, "What scares you, Michaela?"

"I'm so afraid you . . . will be . . ."

"Will be what?" he demanded impatiently.

"Will be . . . disappointed." She lowered her head in embarrassment while he gave her fears some thought.

Sternly, he lectured: "Michaela, since the first time I saw you, I wanted you in my bed."

She blanched at his frank admission.

Cupping her reddening cheeks in his hands, he crooned, "I ache for you in the night." His lips caressed her warm neck.

Michaela, a proper Bostonian unused to lovers' talk, floundered, "No one ever said that to me. I don't know what to say."

Sully urged, "Say yes!"

She relaxed and leaned into his grasp, whispering, "Yes."

Touching forehead to forehead, he demanded, "Louder."

They tumbled sideways in the straw, laughing at the release of pre-wedding jitters.

The next afternoon, as the newlyweds chose a seat at the rear of the rail car, they settled as far from two snoring teamsters as possible. Sully stretched his boots to the foot rest in front and reached his left arm across the cushioned back. Happy, but mildly dazed at the change in her marital status, Michaela sat perched on the upholstered edge.

He nudged her affectionately, "It's a three-hour ride. Better make yourself comfortable."

She removed a hat pin and deposited a feathered blue bonnet on the seat in front. Leaning back, she fit perfectly in the notch of his underarm. He gazed into her eyes, "Isn't that better?"

She acknowledged, "You're right. I didn't know I was so weary from a week of dealing with Mother and Marjorie. I hope these next two weeks relax both of us."

Pondering two weeks alone with his wife, Sully reached for her left hand and kissed the gold band. "I love you, Michaela. Are you happy with me?"

"Yes. Very," she replied. Searching for a topic of conversation suitable to their surroundings, she asked, "Did you like the ceremony?"

"I liked the woman in white who came down the aisle toward me. I almost stopped breathin to see you so beautiful." He suppressed more passionate thoughts that had to wait for the hotel.

After 8:00 P. M., the Colorado Springs-to-Denver evening train pulled into the station. Sully guided Michaela into the carriage and joined her for a six-block ride to the hotel. At the desk, he handed the concierge their reservation. In return, Sully received a key to room 18 and a reminder that the dining room closed at 10:00 P. M.

"Pardon me, Mr. Sully?"

Sully looked vaguely annoyed, "Yes?"

"Is there a third person in your party?"

Sully almost laughed out loud at the thought of a third person joining them on their wedding night. "No, just my wife and me." He enjoyed for the first time the sensation of oneness in the phrase "my wife and me."

The concierge insisted, "I have a Dr. Quinn listed on my reservation pad."

Michaela glided a step closer to the desk. "That's my professional name," she explained without going into details of why a married woman chose to keep her maiden name.

The concierge regrouped and muttered, "Yes, of course. My mistake." He looked composed as he smiled at them. "Welcome to our hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Sully."

Michaela looked up and beamed at being recognized as Mrs. Sully rather than Miss or Doctor Quinn. She grasped medical bag in one hand and skirt in the other as she turned to the stairs. Sully took her arm and escorted her to the top. A uniformed bellhop followed with their luggage.

In the second-floor suite, Michaela took in a sedate green chintz cover on the four-poster, a roomy bathroom, and a gray merino lap robe on a two-person upholstered rocker at the hearth. With a quick doff of her hat by the lamp on the bedside table, she lifted the ruffled drape on the far window and looked into the lamp-lit gloom. Finger by finger, she tugged off her fawn-colored gloves and laid them aside.

Sully, accepting the bags, tipped the bellhop a coin and began jerking off coat and tie and unbuttoning his white shirt.

"There's a park next door, Sully. And park benches." She pulled aside the cream-white sheers. "After dinner, we could go for a moonlit stroll." She leaned closer to the pane for a better look at couples walking beneath poplar trees leafing into full green.

Shirtless and bootless, Sully blew out the lamp, startling Michaela with the sudden darkness. Gathering her into his embrace, he urged, "Come to bed, Michaela. Let me love you." Before she could reply, he swept her up and set her gently on the edge of the bed. Smiling at her surprise, he began untying, unbuttoning, removing shoes and stockings while willing himself not to hurry.

Michaela, ridding herself of virginal nerves, let her fingertips riffle the hair on his chest. "I've always wanted to do that."

"Well now you can," he laughed, nibbling her fingers.

The two snuggled into bed, relishing the spark of flesh on flesh. With tiny kisses, Sully began exploring her body, touching earlobes, collarbones, and shoulders. Kisses changed to feather-light sweeps of his tongue on her breasts. From somewhere outside her conscious self, she arched toward him, voicing pleasure without words. The caresses moved across her abdomen, around her navel, and over the taut lower belly. At the tip of her genitals, he placed a reverent kiss on the nest of curls and separated her labia with his fingers. The tip of his tongue touched the fleshy pearl of her secret place. He inhaled female musk and tasted the salty sweetness.

Uttering soft sounds, the bride thrilled to his touch. Forcing her mind from the anatomical coupling of man with woman that she studied in medical school, she set free her thoughts. The newlyweds slipped into a rhythm harmonized with his delicious strokings. As his fingertips probed her vagina, she opened herself to a tide that pressed downward, outward. The sweep took her by surprise. At the height of passion, she gripped Sully's hand and lay back in ecstasy. He took time to savor her discovery of sensuality.

Sully's tongue moved back to her belly and navel as his rovings inched upward. His mouth encircled her left breast, suckling at her nipple. He slid to the right breast and nuzzled her underam. As his lips moved up her neck to her temple, his fingers spread the labial moisture in rhythm with her pleasure. He caressed her vulva with his erection, sliding from upper tip to vagina and back, heightening her expectations and eliciting sighs. Gradually, she felt the questing of his body in hers. The fullness surprised her with its arousal of unknown pleasures. As their rhythms melded into one, she felt him fully extended inside her.

He paused out of respect for her unfamiliarity with sex: "Michaela, do you want me to stop?"

She widened her eyes in the darkness and whispered, "Please don't go." She pulled him closer.

Sully relaxed his fear of harming her and allowed himself to press more heatedly into lovemaking. Her nails swept his shoulders. Losing himself in romancing his wife, he reached a peak of desire. "God, I want you," he groaned as he released pent-up yearning. Sparing her his weight, he rolled over, hugging her close.

Michaela quivered from hands to shoulders to hips. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, fearing his lack of control had harmed her. He pulled the coverlet up to her shoulders.

Honesty demanded the truth. She gulped, "It was . . . more forceful than I expected."

"Why didn't you tell me to stop?" his voice quavered.

She stroked his brow. "It was so wonderful . . . so beautiful . . . I didn't want to miss anything."

Sully grinned into her hair and rubbed her back and bottom in circular strokes. "It'll get easier. I promise."

"Did it hurt you?" she asked timidly.

He was touched by the naivete of her question. "No. I love bein inside you."

With effort, she posed her greatest fear: "You would tell me if you're . . . disappointed?"

A sudden grasp of her torso spoke his annoyance. "Hush. Don't ever say that."

Michaela sighed and stroked his cheek. Knowing her busy mind, he asked, "Whatcha thinkin?"

"I'm a real wife now," she said.

"You're my real wife." With devilish humor, he tweaked, "Are you sorry we're missin supper and a moonlight stroll?"

Michael giggled in reply.

They lapsed into a comfortable, quiet union. "You sleepy?" he whispered.

"Peaceful," she crooned with a pleasant snuggle against his ear.

Sully nipped at her bottom lip and worked back to soulful, chewy kisses. As his passion reignited, she felt his erection return. He rolled back to cover her with his body. "Don't move," he whispered.

Michaela was not sure what he meant. "Why not?"

"Lie still," he repeated. He ran his fingers through her curls, tasted her ears, cheeks, eyelids, and throat. At last, with a sharp intake of breath, he gave in to a second release. Exhausted, he sank to her shoulder, his breath coming in gasps.

Hours later, Michaela awoke to Sully staring down at her. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Watchin my wife sleepin." He seemed content to observe her against the pillow.

"I didn't mean to oversleep." Drowsy, but relaxed, she stretched her legs against his.

"It's not sunup yet. Go back to sleep," he urged, holding her close and warm. "We've got all day."

She sighed, "I love waking up in your arms."

He took pride in her contentment. "I'm glad." His answer was so like him—just enough to say what he meant and no more.

She pulled him closer and murmured, "I don't want this night to end."

When Sully opened his eyes on morning, he reached into an empty space beside him. He peeled back the covers and found Michaela gone. In the distance beyond the foot of the bed, he saw her backside easing into the bath while both hands pinned stray coppery brown curls at the top of her head.

He called, "Michaela?"

"Hm?" she smiled back at him.

He padded to the end of the tub and asked, "Mind if I get in too?"

She slid up to make room, pulling his arms around her breasts. "Mm," she sighed. "You certainly fill up a tub." The rising water dotted her chin with a fluff of bubble bath.

"Michaela, are you all right?" He sounded concerned.

"I'm fine. I thought a warm scrub would be soothing before breakfast." She sank against him and sudsed a washcloth.

He felt alarm at her need for a comforting soak in the tub. He hesitated, then inquired, "Are you sore? There's blood stains on the sheet."

"Sully," she spoke in her authoritative Dr. Quinn voice, "vaginal bruising and tearing are not uncommon in . . . inexperienced women. I'll be fine."

"I don't want you to hurt. Lovin should feel good for both of us." He took the cloth and began washing in pleasant circles her shoulders, chest, and middle.

"Why am I being pampered?" she teased.

"You're the bride. The bride's sposed to be pampered," he laughed as he washed lower between her thighs. He paused to explore her genitals with his fingertips.

Michaela squirmed against him at the reminder of their sexual union.

"What about the groom? Doesn't he deserve something special?"

Sully devoured her with his eyes. "The groom's already had his pamperin," he smiled. "Twice."

Michaela sighed. "I want us always to be this happy."

He touched her ear tip with his lips and promised, "I'll do my best."

When the water cooled, Michaela slipped out of the tub and reached for a towel. Before she could wrap herself in it, Sully engulfed her in his arms and layered her in warm terry cloth. Turning her to face him, he rubbed her back and thighs.

Her hands free to wander, she surprised him by frisking her nails expertly over his privates. His eyes darkened. He hoisted her from the chilly floor and carried her to the bed for a pre-breakfast tumble.

The waiter seated the newlyweds at a sunny spot in the dining room and brought a teapot and a steamy toast basket. Sully moved directly to fork and knife. He stopped chewing ham and eggs long enough to muse at his wife, who stared at her plate.

"Why are you smilin at your eggs?" he asked merrily.

Engrossed in a sudden epiphany, she looked up. "I was thinking about my patients."

"Oh," he grumped. "We're on our honeymoon, remember?"

"It's just a passing thought."

"Can't you forget about the clinic?"

She continued, "I just realized why young married women treat themselves so gently and why they question every twinge."

"Why's that?" he pursued, his curiosity aroused.

"Because they never know when they might be pregnant, when they might be carrying new life. It's a strange feeling I've never had before . . . and quite overpowering." She stretched her hands over her womb as though searching for a change in her body.

Sully grinned at her, thinking privately about the jumpy young men who worried about their brides' every whim and whimper. The thought of an unborn child made him vow to take better care of Michaela from now on.

Into the overcast morning, Sully and Michaela strolled up the street to window-shop at Denver's many boutiques. At gents' furnishing stores, he turned aside from polished riding boots, stetsons, and leather-edged smoking jackets. Not his style. Michaela, on the other hand, peered at everything—silverware, dancing slippers, lace tablecloths. At a lingerie shop, she leaned her hand against the glass to examine a dimity dressing gown. Its florets, dentelle cuffs, and robin's egg blue ribbons seemed too frilly to him—not the usual attire for a frontier doctor. She glanced at the mannequin as though taking stock of the garment, then moved on to more shop windows.

Halfway down the block, they halted in late morning for coffee and a cherry pastry. Michaela ate half of hers and pushed the rest toward Sully, who sliced it obediently with his knife. As he ate and drank a second cup of coffee, she pulled a detailed shopping list from her pocket and began ticking off items she had already spotted.

"Sully, what do you think about the dimity robe?"

He thought better of giving his true opinion. "Nice, if that's what you want."

"Not for me, silly. It's a girl's robe—for Colleen." Michaela was genuinely surprised that he didn't follow her private train of thought.

Sully reflected on his misunderstanding of the way his wife shopped. She cared little for baubles for herself when she had a list of goodies to buy for their home and children. Without her prompting, he strolled back to the store. Hands reached into the window and slid the gown off the mannequin. Sully returned with his purchase wrapped in brown paper and string and extended it to Michaela with a luscious smirk.

Into the afternoon, the sky threatened, then poured rain mixed with icy bits. A "Rockies rouser" blew cold down from the peaks. Sully hurried her along toward the hotel, which was blocks away. By the time they arrived under the wind-lashed canopy, she was soaked through, her boots muddy, and her torso quaking with cold.

"I think I've caught a chill," she said. She compressed pale lips, her hands grasping at his.

Sully escorted her briskly indoors and up the stairs. Gesturing to a chamber maid, he ordered a tea tray for two and unlocked the door to their room. Michaela fumbled at ribbons and buttons as she began stripping off soggy garments with numb fingers. At the hearth, Sully stacked kindling and lit a fire with one match. He pulled her stockings and the remainder of her underclothes free and dumped them on the floor. Engulfing her in the comfy duvet, he settled her close to his body on the rocker and nudged the firelogs to a blaze.

The maid rapped on the door. She deposited a tea tray at his elbow and crept out without a word.

With his free hand, Sully poured tea and pressed the cup to Michaela's lips. "Sip easy," he urged. "It's hot." He mopped at spills with the starched napkin.

The warmth revived Michaela and stilled her shivers. "Another half cup?" she asked. Sully reheated her tea with more from the pot. The next swallows soothed the chill. She leaned into his shoulder, closed her eyes, and let herself be rocked while he drank his own tea.

When her energy returned, she chose a rectangle of sponge cake, topped it with clotted cream, and added strawberries. With upturned lips, she urged, "Have a bite."

Sully indulged his wife with a big mouthful. His tension eased. He took the remaining bit and pressed it to her mouth. She tittered, "Your aim is off center." He tilted her backward over his arm and licked at the cream and berry juice on her upper lip. Their kisses renewed the mood from the early morning bath.

In a sudden change of direction, Michaela drew her long curls to the side and sat up. She began, "Sully, would you mind . . . ?" She halted in mid-thought.

"Would I mind what?" He wasn't sure what to expect from her in the midst of passion.

"Would you mind if I got pregnant right away?"

He chuckled deep in his chest. "Nothin would please me more."

They nestled back under the duvet, tucked toes under the merino lap robe, and rocked contentedly as the oak log gave out its heat. Sully's palms caressed her curves; his kisses warmed and deepened.

With a husky query, he broke the silence, "Would you be more comfortable on the bed?"

Michaela blinked fetchingly. "Mm."


End file.
